


Beautiful Sam

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sam is seventeen, Self-Esteem Issues, Weecest, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3882325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't think too highly of himself. Dean is determined to prove him wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!  
> This is an older fill I'm cross-posting from Tumblr.  
> Warnings: weecest (Sam is seventeen), first time, handjobs, Sam has some shitty self esteem.  
> Prompt was: insecure sam.  
> Hope you enjoy.

            Sam’s back hits the dirt once more and he grunts.  _Weak_ , the voice in his head taunts, and the voice sounds an awful lot like his father. He shoves Dean away and gets up, the two of them returning to their marks, ready to start again.

            If John were there, he’d say something to Sam, something about how poor his performance is, but John has been gone for three weeks already and he’s showing no signs of coming home soon.

            They start again and Sam is pinned in record time, too distracted to really focus on his technique. Damnit, he knows how to pin Dean. Or, at least, he knows the idea behind it. It’s been drilled into his head a million times. Maybe he’s just too slow, not strong enough. Maybe it’s his awkward, gangly seventeen year-old body that he just can’t get to work right.

            Whatever it is, Dean has put him in the dirt six times that afternoon. Dean, the strong, confident hunter who knows his stuff, knows how to take care of himself. Dean, with strong, lithe muscles under golden, slightly freckled skin…

            Sam flushes, because he  _is not supposed to be thinking of that_ , damnit, and now he’s even more distracted, both at the thought of how beautiful Dean is and how  _wrong_ Sam is for thinking that. Because he wasn’t enough of a freak already, because it wasn’t enough to be a freak kid living their freak life working in the freak family business. No. He had to be the freak who lusted after his brother as well.

            He pushes Dean off of him once more and runs into the run-down rental house, locking himself in the bathroom. The door is so flimsy that one sharp turn of the handle will break the lock, but Sam feels better hearing the little click.

            Sam looks at himself in the mirror, sees a skinny, scarred seventeen year old in ratty shorts and turns his head away in disgust. He’s just a weird looking freak-kid, and even if Dean were as messed up as he is—which he’s  _not_ , Dean isn’t like Sam, he’s normal—why would Dean ever want  _this?_

            “Sammy?” Dean snaps, right outside the door, and Sam jumps, he didn’t hear Dean come into the house behind him.

            “Be out in a minute,” he croaks.

            There’s a thump, and Sam knows Dean is leaning against the door. “Sammy? What is it? What’s wrong?”

            “’M okay, Dean,” Sam says.

            “Bullshit, Sammy,” Dean says, losing patience. “’M coming in.”

            “No, don’t—“ but it’s too late, Dean is already inside, having broken the lock in one sharp twist.

            “What the hell, Sammy?” he asks, eyes quickly looking over Sam, as if expecting some grievous injury. “You hurt?”

            Sam shakes his head, watching his brother. Watching Dean, still bare-chested, covered in sweat and a fair amount of dirt, and it’s not fair, he shouldn’t look so good like that.

            Sam is mortified, absolutely mortified, to feel himself getting hard at the sight of his extremely attractive older brother, and it’s too much to hope that Dean won’t notice, because basketball shorts hide absolutely nothing.

            Dean smirks. “That it? Rolling around in the dirt with me turn you on?”

            Sam blushes and looks away, hoping Dean will leave him alone now that he knows Sam is okay.

            Of course, he’s not that lucky, and Dean grabs his face and tilts it so he and Sam are looking at each other. “Dude, it’s cool,” Dean says. “I remember being seventeen, Sammy, I wanted to fuck  _all the time_. I’m not mad, okay? You need to get a date, though.”

            Sam jerks his head out of Dean’s grip and scoffs. “With who?”

            Dean looks at him uncomprehendingly. “Dude, you’re the one in school, not me. Ask one of those girls. Or guys. Whatever.”

            Sam blushes. “None of them would want me,” he mumbles. “Just a freak loser.”

            “Hey!” Dean snaps. “What the hell, Sammy? You’re not…that. You’re a great kid. Any of those kids at school would be lucky to go out with you.”

            Sam looks up at his big brother, his beautiful, confident big brother who never had any trouble getting a date or doing anything else, for that matter, and knows that Dean would never understand, because unlike him, Dean is normal. Dean is not a freak.

            “’M not…normal,” Sam says quietly. “That’s why they don’t want me. And why I don’t want them,” he finishes, and it’s true, because he’s never wanted anyone beside Dean.

            “Fuck normal,” Dean spits vehemently. “What, the kids at school giving you a hard time, Sammy? Is that it?”

            Sam shakes his head, because no, this school isn’t any worse than the others, is even better than some. “They’re okay,” Sam says. “I just don’t want any of them.”

            “Okay…” Dean says hesitantly, clearly lost but still trying to push through for Sam’s sake. “That’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says. “I mean, just…fuck who you want, okay? No one says you have to fuck one of those kids. You’ll meet someone some day.”

            “No I won’t,” Sam says. “I’m not gonna meet someone because I’m a  _freak_.”

            “Sammy,” Dean snaps, impatient now, “you are  _not_ a freak—“

            “I’m a freak,” Sam spits, “because the only person I want is my fucking brother, alright?”

            Sam recoils, horrified at what he just admitted, and tries to escape, but Dean is blocking the door, and, anyways, where could Sam go?

            He finally looks up at Dean’s face, trying to judge how bad this is going to be for him, only to see some sort of stunned expression. “You serious, Sammy?” Dean asks. “Don’t fuck with me. Don’t say this if you’re not serious.”

            Sam nods his head and closes his eyes. “I am, and I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean to be, honest. I know I’m a freak, and that you wouldn’t ever want someone like  _me_ , even if I wasn’t your brother, and I’m sorry—“

            “Stop,” Dean says, and Sam shuts up immediately. “Sammy, you sure you want this? Absolutely sure? ‘Cause I want you, Sammy, have for a while.”

            “Why?” Sam asks, and it’s such a  _stupid_  thing to say, but he needs to know why Dean would want him.

            “Why what?” Dean asks.

            Sam rolls his eyes. “Why would you want  _me?_  I’m just, I’m a freak, Dean, I’m clumsy and I suck at hunting and I’m slow and weak. And I look like this,” he says, waving a hand at his awkward body.

            Dean takes Sam’s hand, stopping him in his tracks from his litany of personal faults. Dean begins to trace the lines of Sam’s palm, a gentle touch that feels so  _nice_. “Sammy, you’re not a freak, stop fucking saying that, you’re brilliant, you’re a good hunter, hell, a great fucking hunter. No one is a better researcher than you, you’re so fucking smart, and, yeah Sammy, you’re a little clumsy, but you’re seventeen and just grew five inches, you’ll get through it, I promise. And what the fuck is wrong with how you look?” Dean demands.

            Sam opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Dean uses his grip on Sam’s hand to spin them, so they’re back to chest, facing the mirror.

            Dean whispers in Sam’s ear. “’Cause when I look at you, Sammy, I see a really fucking hot kid,” he says. “And I’m gonna prove it to you.”

            “How?” Sam asks, already a little breathless from being this close to Dean.

            Dean grins. “Let me touch you?” Sam nods shakily, so Dean pushes Sam’s shorts down and Sam kicks them away, leaving him undressed. He turns his head away, but Dean takes one hand and redirects Sam’s face so he can see himself in the mirror.

            “Look at that fucking attractive guy,” Dean says. “Look. See what I see. Look at those awesome fucking eyes, Sammy, or that gorgeous mouth. That cute mole I wanna kiss. That long neck. Bet it would look even better with a hickey or two. God, Sammy, wanna run my tongue over your chest, your stomach. Pretty, tight little pink nipples. Wanna wrap your legs around my waist, throw them over my shoulder. And your cock…such a pretty cock,” Dean murmurs, wrapping a hand around it and beginning to stroke.

            “Gonna make you come, Sammy,” Dean continues. “Want you to watch yourself, watch how perfect you look. Can you do that for me?”

            Sam nods and Dean smiles. “So good for me, Sammy. Keep watching.”

            Dean continues to stroke Sam, gently rolling his nipples with the other hand. “So pretty, Sammy,” me says. “God, you have no idea how fucking perfect you are, do you? But that’s okay, Sammy, ‘cause I’m gonna show you, gonna prove it to you, how fucking perfect you are. Look at yourself. Strung out, eyes wide, panting. So fucking gorgeous.”

            Sam looks, really looks, and he might not see what Dean does, but Sam has to admit that he doesn’t look much like an awkward freak like this, looks strung-out but in a good way.

            “Want you to come for me, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. “Make a mess in my hand, c’mon, let go for me, wanna see you when you finally let go, bet you’re so fucking pretty like that…”

            Sam comes, screaming Dean’s name, and Dean talks him through it, whispering, “so good, Sammy, so good for me, perfect, god, so fucking perfect…” until Sam has come down from his high, panting and boneless in Dean’s arms.

            “There you go, Sammy,” Dean says. “Believe me now? See the Sammy I see? The Sammy I love so much?”

            Sam nods shyly, then asks, “Dean, can I—if I wanna—do you want me to—“

            “Hey,” Dean whispers. “You can do anything you want. Promise.”

            “Can I blow you?’ Sam blurts out.

            Dean sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck, yes, Sammy, you can do that. Anything, Sam, so fucking perfect, god—“

            Sam grins and sinks to his knees.


End file.
